


Wanderlust

by Wordsyoucantaste



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cherik - Freeform, Erik is a papa, Gen, Modern AU, Multi, Pietro is a baby, Plus i might bring stryker in soon, Some Mild Angst, This is honestly all fluff with a dash of angst, charles is thrilled, dadneto, dont worry happy endings for all, rated for language, there's definitely some cherik in there, total canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 07:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13654587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsyoucantaste/pseuds/Wordsyoucantaste
Summary: Erik likes his life. Sure, it’s a lonely one. And it often leads him to return to Charles and Raven time and time again. But he’s fine with that. Odd Jobs and cheap motels don’t bother him any. And he’s pretty sure he could do this forever.Until a pair of silver eyes look at him like he’s this kid’s entire world. And why in god’s name does he have a photo of him from so long ago? Erik doesn’t know if he’s thrilled with the answer, but it doesn’t mean he loves Pietro any less.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my first X-Men fic ever, I’m super super new to source material, having only recently seen the movies (I’m getting to the comics next!). That being said, I’ve been having some serious Dadneto feels and decided to make a self-indulgent fic to satiate myself. 
> 
> Modern Au with obvious canon divergence. Erik is in his early 30s when he finds 6 year old Pietro. Rated for language and potentially mature situations ahead (Stryker, anyone?). I’ll be sure to list any and all trigger warnings <3
> 
> *Finally edited and finished, I should have waited a bit longer before posting but I got so excited!*

He’s not one for settling down often. In fact, if he had it his way, Erik Lehnsherr would never linger in one town for longer than a few weeks at a time. That’s how its been for… well, shit, for a _long time now_ and Erik can’t even remember what it was like to feel like a teenager on the run. He remembers why he did it, left the home that was one politically correct term away from being straight out of Annie The Musical. But the fear, the pure uncertainty of unknown no longer made him sick to his core. No, he has it figured it out now. No longer young enough to need to avoid any and all authority, Erik now revels in the freedom of no attachments as a young man. Well, youngish. Every now and then Erik realizes that he's still getting older and wont be in his 20's much longer. He’s free to go where he wants, be with who he wants, when he wants and he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

At least that’s what he tells himself every time he wakes up and realizes he doesn’t hate where he’s at. Every time the local coffee shop remembers his order. Or when the local _bar_ does for that matter. It's what he tells himself when he gets too friendly, when his one night stands turn into second and third dates. He has the rule of two paycheck period set in place for a reason. Because people like him can’t stay in one place for too long. Because then people figure him out. They figure out he’s not normal, that he’s _different_. And if this world has taught Erik anything, it’s that there’s no room for different. So he makes a point of avoiding trying to fit into a puzzle that's complete without his kind.

Charles calls him an idiot for such a thought. A _miserable idiot_. “How can you live without even an ounce of hope?” He’d lecture Erik, somehow making him feel small despite the drastic height difference the two of them shared. When Erik had felt the pressure to stay on the move to avoid being thrown back into an uncaring system that would rather lock him up than show him the affection he’d craved since he was an orphaned child, so does he feel the urge to run from Charles Xavier as an adult with no reasonable justification outside of fear. Either way, Erik runs because it’s all he’s known.

He zips up his bag, pockets his phone, and checks the time. It’s three in the morning, the moon outside offering very little light through the dense fog. He looks at the woman in his bed and considers what a life with her would be like. Would she wear all white on their wedding day that he'd never stay long enough to even contemplate? Would he drive a mini-van and buy a cookie cutter home on the edge of town with a large lawn? Brag about his son being on honor-roll or take his daughter to dance classes? Erik knows he’ll never have a life like that and he’s okay with that.

Brown curls cascade and frame the soft sleeping face that still lay in bed and Erik feels that familiar guilt creep up on him. She’d be better off without him complicating her young life. She’s smart, beautiful, the kind of woman Erik could truly come to love one day and cherish. But he would be nothing more than a monster to her. He knows he’d ruin her life along the way, and so, it’s best if he just lets himself be the out of town stranger that never called again. He leaves in the middle of the night, heading north and ignores the tell tale signs that he’s, once again, heading towards Westchester. He doesn't believe it still as he knocks on the front door hours later.

When the door opens, Charles registers the tall frame with a smile. "I knew you'd be back. You're over-due, my friend." He moves to let Erik in and Erik doesn't even walk with shame anymore like he used to. It wasn't long ago that he would step through this front door feeling embaressed like he needed help or handouts. Fact is, Charles never gave Erik handouts. This was a home for Erik, and it had been since he and Charles first met as teenagers. Charles helped Erik hide from a gang of cops looking to throw Erik back into an orphanage. They were sopping wet from the downpour and Charles had looked at Erik like he was another person to collect. It confused Erik at the time, and if he's being honest, it confuses him now that a man like Charles is even interested in the likes of Erik. 

"He must have smelled the soup in the kitchen." A sweet voice sounds and Erik can see the blonde locks of Raven, his face softening when he sees her. She sweeps in, hugging him and Erik can't help but embrace her completely and kiss her hair. He's sure he'd absolutely murder for Raven. A thought that allows Erik to realize that if he would murder for Raven,  _what would he do for Charles._ He'll never admit it, why would he? He has too much pride and Charles is too smug of a little shit to allow Erik the opportunity to do so. The thought still lingers in his mind though and he's hoping Charles isn't tuning in, accidentally or not.

It’s hours later and Erik is wrapped in a blanket by a fireplace when Charles pulls up next to him, smiling at the empty bowl of soup. “Lost in thought?” Charles asks and all Erik can do is hum. “I'd offer you a penny for them, but you’re not bought so easily.”

“Ever feel like something is _wrong_?” Erik asks and wishes he could retract his words the moment they leave his lips.

“Couch surfing certainly would encourage such a feeling.” Charles does his best to hide the smug feeling in his chest from having told Erik that this day would come, sooner or later, when Erik simply would grow tired of wandering the earth.

“Don’t be an ass, I’m serious.” Erik coughs back, despite the smile tugging on his face. He shoots a glare at Charles for the sake of keeping face, but he knows where Charles is coming from. Why move around and keep an uprooted life when you can settle here in the lap of luxury? Erik is sure he's a psychiatrist's Freudian wet dream but he doesn't think too long about it. 

“Who says I’m not?” A paused. “If you spend your whole life running, you’ll run right past all the things that make life worth slowing down for.” Charles wonders if he’s as pretentious as he sounds in moments like this. He figures the self awareness is enough to keep him from entering douche status. But this is Erik and he knows that Charles means well.

“Not all of us have the luxury of money to keep safe behind.” His voice holds no malice in it despite how fast he cocked to words back.

“No, perhaps not. But my door has been and always will be open to you.” Charles means every syllable as he says them, and he sizes up Erik’s reaction to the words though isn’t disappointed when Erik seems unmoved. The bastard always did hide his emotions when he wanted to.

“Thank you again.” Erik’s words are soft, maybe too gentle for the grit it held; he was likely getting sick from not getting any real sleep lately. But all the same, Erik doesn’t try to correct the nature of his reply. He sticks with it, eyeing Charles. He doesn’t say what else he wants to say, it doesn’t need to be said. Charles knows Erik will be gone in the morning and he wont stop him. Because this is their game. Erik will leave, not stay in touch, and be back in a few months. Maybe for a few hours, maybe days, a couple weeks at most. They’ll share laughs, act as though not a day has passed since they’ve seen each other, and just as suddenly he came, so will Erik leave. “She’ll hate me tomorrow.” Erik says sadly, thinking about sweet brown eyes and long curls to match still asleep in the cheap motel. “You'd have liked her." He says as though he requires Charles' approval. "She's sweet. Smart too. Kinda girl that fights back." Erik is getting soft. He will deny everything until the very end when confronted with the idea that he may have fallen in love. But fact of the matter is that Erik falls quickly even if temporarily. He could tell every lonely soul he'd ever found momentary solace in that he loved them and it wouldn't have been a lie; in his own way, he loved the kind girl he left back in Virginia. 

“You could have stayed.” Charles offers like it’s an enlightened idea.

“No. I couldn’t. Being a mutant or whatever it is you’d have us labeled as would only ruin her life.” Erik’s word are rough, a low gravel sounding as he spoke. Charles can see the sadness in Erik’s eyes and for the first time, he believes in the metal-bender’s misery.

The sun comes up in the morning and Charles wakes to find the blanket Erik had used last night draped over his shoulders. A note in the kitchen with another thank you. And in a dusty motel in Virgina, a young woman wakes up, heartbroken, still smelling his cologne on the pillows. It only takes her about a month to realize that she hated Erik Lensherr, if only because he was nothing more than a ghost to her who had left her with more than she bargained for.

  
/\/\/\/\/\

  
The phone doesn’t break or crumble when it hits the wall on the other side of the room and Erik isn’t even shocked anymore by that. Phones have come a long way. They have less buttons, more screen and even less metal. Something Erik is thankful for. An angry call often ended with a phone short-circuiting on him, a large clunk as he dropped it into a trash can rather than think about the possibility of giving a piss poor excuse of why he needs to replace another phone that’s magically fried. Still, he’d have to say something but losing it is much easier than the look of horrors on some poor employees face at Best Buy (always a risky visit for him on a bad day).

He grunts, rolling out of the crappy bed that should have ruined his back by now if he were any older than he was now. Being in his early thirties has it’s advantages he figures but he still stretches and hears far too many joints cracking for his liking. Maybe the new age category is catching up to him. “Maybe I am old.” He says to absolutely no one except the ancient television he left on last night. He’s pretty sure that this motel hasn’t replaced a damn thing since he last stayed here seven years ago, but he’s not intent on staying long enough to find out. Images of leaving behind a hopeful bright eyed brunette waitress fill his head and he shakes them away. 

The tv is still going. The news is on, some middle-aged man wearing too much tanner on his face going on about today’s newest tragedies. Erik hears nothing but background noise until the word mutant sounds off and his ears pick up. Another mutant shot dead. Another cop declaring self defense. Another riot in the streets and suddenly, Erik can’t listen to another word. Fear bred into hatred and Erik shakes distaste from his mouth as best he can albeit uselessly. He feels the rage well up inside him and he snatches the remote, slamming his finger on the power button furiously. 

He stands, grabbing his phone and turning it on to find no notifications. He’s not sure why he checks. Every now and then, he’ll get something Charles or Raven. But these days, Charles is focused on his school for the _gifted_ , a euphemism for mutated he knows. Raven has her own world, one that doesn’t get involved with Erik’s brand of complicated.

A knock sounds on the door and Erik drops the phone again, hearing the screen shatter. “Motherfu-” He hisses, running to grab pants and failing as the knocking continues, a key now entering the door. It takes every ounce of restraint for Erik to not break the key in the lock, but against instincts, he stands there, clad only in boxers when housekeeping steps into the room. “Hi.” He says, folding his arms. The woman stares, blushes while Erik can only wave and give an awkwardly smile. She leaves after muttering several apologies and Erik finally sees his jeans under the bed.

The screen is shattered on the smartphone that Erik bets isn’t really that smart. _Not as smart as Charles_. He sighs, leaving the phone on the bed before he gets dressed and gathers up some of his laundry into a mesh bag he’s managed to not lose yet. Fix phone, do laundry, grab a drink, leave. His to do list today is simple and he’s thankful. He checks out, slipping the front desk attendant a five; “For the poor woman who walked in on me this morning.”

/\/\/\/\/\

Momma is arguing with him again. And it’s more than Pietro can stand. Once more she’s crying, and he can feel the anger and hurt rolling off her in waves and it makes the tears in his eyes sting when they well up. Wiping his tears (and nose) on his sleeve, he does the only thing that feels right; he starts to pack. After all, it’s his fault anyway.

Momma is always unhappy. She can’t find a good King to rule with her, a true Queen in Pietro’s eyes. Even if she calls him her precious little Prince, he knows that it’s his fault. He heard her on the phone. Men don’t want a woman with a child like _him_. His hand vibrates as though to prove a point to himself that this is the right thing to do. Momma is pregnant, says it’s going to be a Princess and Pietro can’t imagine hurting another girl in his life just because he was selfish.

He doesn’t remember when he became so fast. Maybe it’s because it happened gradually. No specific event. Momma says the signs were there all along. His inability to gain much weight. Lack of focus. Impatience. No filtering of thoughts. Jumbling of words. Even words that _no six year old should know_. He was a marvel to all and any doctors that so much as took his vitals. At first it was okay.

He’s in Elementary school still, First Grade. And his speed is harder to handle. Beyond the bullying, the pointed fingers and slurs, the impossible task of sitting still for seven hours, the constant need to eat or risk seeing stars, Pietro has himself figured out. He knows how to make his hands vibrate. And he wins every race now, no longer tripping over his own feet. But it’s not enough. Running doesn’t keep Momma from crying when her boyfriend yells at her. “… And don’t even get me started on that kid of yours!”

Momma defends him, she steps into the larger man's face like it's nothing and Pietro wonders if that's what true bravery is, looking at fear and not flinching. “You leave my son out of this!” But Boyfriend Of The Moment declares that Pietro is the reason they’re in this in the first place. And honestly, he didn’t mean to break Jordan Sander’s fingers. He had the pedal car first and Jordan had no right to pull him out of it like that, tugging on his hair enough for Pietro to cry. He could have done worse, he wanted to do worse. Jordan Sanders was always bullying the smaller kids and Pietro had enough. Jordan got his when Pietro simply (and quickly) pushed Jordan’s out of his hair. It’s not his fault Jordan’s thumb and index fingers hit the plastic roof of the pedal car. They expelled Pietro anyway, declaring him a danger to other children. It’s the third time this has happened. And Momma says it's not Pietro's fault. But the news people talk about mutants all the time, people who are different and how they make problems for everyone else and Pietro knows that he's one of  _them_. 

He zips the backpack up, admiring the crimson clad hero with the yellow lightning bolt on his chest that ran proudly on the front and thinks if he should say goodbye or not. He doesn't think he should, not when he can hear even more yelling and slamming of doors. If he leaves now, Momma can be happy with his baby sister princess and find someone that wants to be apart of her family. 

It’s almost dark. He doesn’t know where to go. He has nothing but some clothes, a stuffed duck that he dare not part ways with, an ipod that he got for Christmas, and thirty seven dollars in his pocket that he took from his piggy bank wrapped around a photo booth strip of photos of Momma and the man she says is his Papa; he can barely see the man's face, it's busy kissing Momma and it's blury. But the features are there and Pietro is determined to find him, the man who is like a magnet. Momma only spoke about him when he asked, and he knows she doesn't like to talk about it. But she still tells him how he'd do magic tricks with paper clips and pennies and Pietro is desperate to find him. Because he knows, in his heart of hearts, that this man, his father, is the reason Pietro is  _like this_. And well, maybe it's selfish, but he wants to know his father, wants his father to know him and he can feel the pull of need in his chest everytime his eyes catch a glimpse of the golden necklace around his Papa's neck. 

Pietro finds himself outside a laundromat, entranced by the swishing and the shaking of the machines. It smells good too, like clean and the heat is just a bonus because he realizes ten minutes ago he forgot his gloves and the sun is gone. He finds a small corner by a dryer, picking his knees up to his chin and letting himself close his eyes. It’s been hours since he’s eaten. And he’s been fighting back tears. This was a good idea before lunch. Now when the sun is gone, Pietro wants to go back. But he can’t. He’ll get in more trouble. They will be looking for him now. Maybe even call the police to help. John will be furious. Will say that maybe Pietro should have just stayed gone. So. He will just listen for once.

  
/\/\/\/\/\

  
Erik locks the door to his car without so much as pulling the keys from his pocket, smirking because no one _knows how he did it_. His laundry is likely done now in the dryer, the laundromat emptying as it nears closing time. He watches the last customer leave, a man about ten years his senior who looks him up and down with a smile on his lips. And who is Erik to deny returning such a compliment by smiling in kind. He keeps eye contact, even daring to not pay attention to where he shuffles his feet until he feels something hit his toes. Or rather, feels his toes hit something.

He drops his gaze down and sees a shiny red plastic backpack, tilting his head to register the face of the superhero on the front as that of Flash. “Thought most kids like Batman.” He mutters, scanning further back to then register a small sleeping form just behind a laundry cart. “Oh. Where did you come from?” He cooes, leaning forward and down and shaking the child awake.

He gasps when silver meet his own steel-colored eyes. Small lips part with a squeak and Erik can’t help but let out a small chuckle. “Why, hello there. You okay, little one?” Pietro hears the man’s voice but doesn’t register his words. “Did you hit your head?” He asks again and Pietro shakes his head, a mess of white hair shaking over his freckled skin. “Are you lost?” Another shake. “Well, there’s no one here but me and they’re going to lock the door soon. Where are your parents?”

Suddenly the tears that Pietro had fought back are now falling down his cheeks and chin. Not a moment later, he feels himself being lifted into the air and held by what he assumes is the man talking to him. It’s within a few seconds more that Erik can feel this little boy wrap his arms around his neck and cry.

He doesn’t understand where the instincts come from. He’s never had the urge to hold or take care of children his entire life. He finds them loud, relentlessly annoying, sticky and dirty. But yet, here he is, holding one on his hip like it’s the most natural thing to him, rubbing his hand along the boy’s spine to sooth him. “Hey Shh, it’ll be okay.” Erik starts, finding a spot on the counter and setting the boy there, quickly grabbing a sweater of his from the dryer and wrapping it around the small shoulders.

Erik is ready to press on further about the boy's parents, but the weight of the backpack and obvious homesick tears told him enough. He ran away. He's pulling his phone out, looking up where the nearest police station is located but a blur of foot movement catches his eye and Erik’s jaw unhinges and drops. “You…” He starts, but pauses when the boy sees what he’s doing.

Pietro freezes entirely. But it doesn’t make the man with autumn kissed hair unsee what he’s seen and Pietro isn't sure if he'll be yelled at or not. Erik clears his throat, smiles and holds a finger out, silently asking for a moment. And a singular moment later, he has a quarter in his hand and he’s presenting it on his palm in front of the boy. When it lifts into the air and curls into a ball, it’s Pietro’s turn to drop his own jaw.

Eyes well up again when he looks are Erik. “You’re like me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik runs to Charles for help with a 3 ft 4 in sized problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys liked the last chapter! This one isn't as long but i hope it makes up for it with some fluff!

“You _what_?” Charles words cut through the air like the sharp wind that’s biting at Erik’s exposed ears and Erik resists the urge to wince. “You _found_ him?” Charles took a beat. “You don’t just find kids, Erik. And not mutant ones at that.” Behind Charles, Erik can see the placard on the post of the door.

“You do it all the time.” Erik throws back with a cocky smirk. It’s been a while since Erik has been back in Westchester, and he’s sure the number of residents have doubled since he was here last. Eyes lowered to register the glare the telepath was giving him, Erik is sure Charles will reach out and smack him at any given moment now. And honestly? He deserves it. Not that he’d mind anyway. This sort of banter was nearing foreplay, as Raven would like to tease them both, and it excites Erik to see Charles get so angry and worked up. When Erik first began to antagonize Charles, it simply started as a way for Erik to see how far he could push the young English scholar. But he found that he loved it and he still does. It leaves this sort of heat between them and Erik can't help but  _thrive_ on such a feeling.

Charles opens his mouth to say something that perhaps he shouldn’t, given the presence of children, and as though to prove a point, a small body steps out from behind Erik’s leg. When did he even get there? A boy, no older than six, maybe seven at most, with a crop of wind blown silver hair and eyes to match that surprises Charles in a way he never would have anticipated. A distinct color, one that’s memorable, a mutation in and of it’s own and Charles is fascinated. “Well, hello there. What’s your name?”

“Pietro.” The little boy squeaks with a bright smile because this man is nice and his words sound funny and Pietro can’t help but enjoy the attention. “What’s yours?” He throws back and Charles laughs.

“Charles Xavier. You can call me Professor, everyone else does.” Charles gives with a gentle tone, holding out his hand and clearly using this moment to teach the boy some manners. Or reinforce them if he's lucky enough. When Pietro grabs Charles' hand (encouraged by Erik, who urges Pietro forward a bit), Charles can tell already that he has a new student at his school. Perhaps the youngest one he'll likely ever have. But for Erik's sake, and for the benefit of the toothy grin and wide bright eyes staring up at him, He'd be happy to take up such a young pupil. He shakes Pietro's hand before looking back at Erik. “You have to take him back.” Charles snips, making it clear his distaste for the situation was focused on Erik entirely.

“Take him back. Right. Let me just find the receipt, Charles. I know I’ve got it somewhere.” Erik deadpans with a look that says no shit sherlock. “He’s insisting on not telling me where he comes from.” A pause. “I was hoping you would… you know…” Erik says as he taps his temple. But Charles shakes his head.

"His mind is like… static noise. I can only collect a little bit at a time…” Charles eyes Pietro, who is now taking to clinging to and swinging around Erik’s legs like the man is a jungle gym. “What _is_ he?”

“Fast.” Erik quips, sighing when Pietro decides to zip in a still visible blur of movement to Charles’ side, eying his wheelchair. “Very fast.” Erik finishes, holding up the boy’s backpack as if it proves a point by pointing to the comic character on the front. Charles can be heard clicking his tongue, almost as if he’s fawning.

“I see. Well then, it’s best you stay here in the meantime.” Charles is already moving to leave the room, knowing Erik will follow, a smug smile on his lips because Erik needs him. It feels good to be needed, Charles thinks, not paying any mind to Pietro who is now hanging off the back side of the chair like a ride. It isn't until Pietro begins to make small engine noises when Charles pushes forward when Charles turns his head, looking directly as the speedster. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” He cocks with a smile, knowing the child likely doesn’t understand what Charles is implying.

Yet, without thinking long, Pietro tilts his head to the side, mouth open and showing off the gap in his teeth. “I know.” Erik has never snorted through his nose to keep from laughing so much, his ribs hurt from the giggles that erupt from his chest and Charles looks absolutely stunned.

It’s not the first small child Charles has dealt with. It’s far from. When he opened this school, he intended it for adolescents. Teens. He has a few older students, Sean and Alex of course, to name a couple. But fact remains that Charles has several young children that he’s “collected”, as Raven would put it. In total, he has about a dozen of mutant children here in this little refuge he’s created, and if he has it his way, more one day.

It’s late now though, the halls empty and quiet and Erik wonders what kind of hell it might be to put Pietro to bed when the kid doesn’t stop for longer than five minutes at a time. At best. But just as with everything else seemingly impossible, Erik watches as Charles convinces the boy into some pajamas and into bed, tucking him in with the stuffed duck and lulling him to sleep like it was routine. Erik’s awe must be all over his face because when Charles turns to begin to close the room up for the night, he laughs at Erik. “You’d be surprised what I’ve dealt with lately.”

Erik, to simply do something with his hands and not feel entirely useless, picks up Pietro’s dirty clothes from the day and laughing when he can hear and feel some change in one of the pockets of jeans. “He really did prepare to leave home.” He says, emptying the pocket on the nearby dresser to then put the jeans in a hamper, not watching as Charles registers all the contents that have fallen before him as Erik takes long strides across the room to clean up, clearly not paying attention much. 

Charles watches the money fall onto the surface, folded around a piece of paper- no, _photos_. He grabs it, unfolding it, and smiling. “Maybe I don’t need to read him to find his mother and father after all.” Charles says as he’s registering the images in front of him. He can feel his face pale when he sees it.

It’s not the jawline, or the way his hair sits unkempt, or even the freckles that dust his cheekbones that set up for the most charming smile Charles might never admit to seeing. No, what caught Charles’ attention was the necklace the man in the photo wore, a familiar golden star hanging from the delicate chain. He folds the photo strip up again, snapping up to look at Erik, thanking every deity he can think of that Erik isn’t a telepath and that he doesn’t ask any further questions. All Charles gets is a satisfied grunt from Erik.

/\/\/\/\/\

It’s really late. Maybe so late that it’s morning, Pietro can’t be sure. He’s wandering the halls, trying to find a bathroom in this castle made of warm wood and was that food he smelled? He finds himself looking down a hallway where a soft light is glowing and he follows it, even faster when he can hear the Professor’s and Erik’s voices.

“-do you mean, hope? Charles, we have police shooting us now. We’re past hoping, we need action or they’re not going to stop. He’s going to get away with it. They all do.” Erik snaps at Charles after pushing a pawn forward.

“If we stoop to their level of violence, Erik, we are no better than them. It’s not them versus us. We want unity, not domination.” Charles gives, voice not raised in the slightest.

“Tell that to the missing kids.” Erik is unamused by the idea. Charles has far more patience than he does. “If it were my children, I’d be burning cities down to find them.” His voice holds a sort of calm passion laced with frustration and Pietro watches in awe as a nearby set of keys lifts from the table nearby just subtly.

Charles wants to speak up. Speaking of children, Charles could feel Pietro on the other side of the poorly shut door and he smiles. Should he tell Erik about the photos? About how there is a strip of paper with Erik’s face all over it on Pietro’s dresser? He wants to. He’s not sure if he should, but he wants to. Wants to look him right in the eyes and make a joke about not using protection but he’s sure that now isn’t a good time. Erik is worried about the state of things.

Kids are going missing. Mutant children, stolen from their beds or from school. From their lives. The government, and subsequently, most major news coverage, refuses to address the issue. It stays hidden, under wraps, only true journalism revealing information as it comes along, uninfluenced by dirty money from Washington D.C. And it makes Erik nervous, Charles can see it. And he doesn’t blame Erik. For a man with a temper as relentless and unyielding as steel, Erik Lensherr wore his heart practically on his sleeve to anyone who took time to know him. Where other’s saw blinding rage, a maddening storm of fury build up within Erik’s words, Charles saw pain, and a dire need to help others not suffer as he’s suffered.

Charles thinks back to Pietro, smiling and shaking his head. “We have a late night visitor, old friend.” He says softly, looking up at Erik as he moves a knight and collects Erik’s bishop. Erik turns his head, and a small gasp can be heard as Pietro ducks to hide better. It’s too late, he knows, he’s been found out by the grown ups and he’s going to be in trouble for being up late.

Or so he thought. As he’s invited into the room, he finds Erik and The Professor’s eyes kind and maybe it’s not bad? Pietro moves instinctively to Erik’s side, hanging on his arm and leaning in to look at the board game. “Are you okay? Why are you up so late?” Erik asks and Charles internally wonders if Erik will treat Pietro as his own regardless if he is or not. Pietro nods.

“Probably just a curious little thing. New places are hard to sleep in at first.” Charles offers as an explanation but Pietro ignores it entirely. “What are you playing?” the kid asks, very much fitting the bill of curious and little.

“It’s called chess. Each piece can only move a certain way and you have to use them to kill the King by landing on the same spots as your opponent.” Erik realizes he might be over-explaining a bit, not sure just what a typical six year old can understand, let alone this six year old who seems smarter than he lets on. “See, these ones can only move back and forth like that, but this one can only move diagonally…”

Charles watches, sees how Erik’s voice is calming Pietro’s mind, the static energy of an out of focus channel softening a bit. It doesn’t shock him that the boy is, within seconds, in Erik’s lap, one of Erik’s arms wrapped around his midsection to keep him close. Charles doesn’t know what intrigues him more. The way Erik’s Chess 101 lesson manages to lull an otherwise awake and wired mutant child with exponential amounts of energy? Or how this child, so small and fragile, has calmed the hurricane that is Erik Lensherr. Either way, Charles can feel his chest swell a bit at the sight and it brings a sort of heat to his ears when Erik so much as makes eye contact with him in this state. 

They’re back in the nearby bedroom, putting Pietro (who’s out cold on Erik’s shoulder) in bed again, and Charles reaches for the photos, pocketing them while Erik is distracted. He’ll show Erik soon. He didn’t want anyone snooping through the new kid’s things, learning a secret or two, and making life more difficult for an estranged father and son. Secrets don’t stay secrets long at this school. He knows the chances of Erik finding out improperly are high, and he’s sure being called a liar is going to sting when Erik learns Charles kept the truth from him. But for now, this is the right decision.

/\/\/\/\/\

 

The neighborhood looks too quiet, the sun already shining. He adjusts his sunglasses and knocks on the door. A boy is missing. The police report came in just hours ago. No suspects, a supposed runaway. Exactly the signs he’s looking for. When a distraught woman opens the door, he smiles, flashing a badge at her and addressing her directly. “Ms Maximoff?” She nods desperately, holding her fist up to her mouth. She’s expecting the worst news and momentarily, he feels bad that he has no words of condolences to offer her. Not that he cares to. “William Stryker, CIA. May I come in?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little curveball thrown in there for good measure :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the german. I tried my best to get accurate translations.

Rain soaks the small village, water pouring out of the drains and down the old buildings and he shivers. Hugging his trenchcoat around him, he keeps his focus on his target. He can feel the venom building in his veins, the anger, the pure hatred. Azazel grimaces as he watches the men move a large crate made of metal bars. They ignore their cargo’s cries, whimpers that sound loudly in Azazel’s ear, wailing, begging for help. They load the crate onto the back of a truck and Azazel bares his teeth when one of them bashed the blunt of their gun against the bars, yelling at the small child inside. “Es tut mir leid,lass mich gehen, bitte!” The boy cries out. _I’m sorry, let me go, please_. All the man manages back is a loud “Shut the fuck up!”

He waits a moment longer. Until he hears a loud click sound behind him, the cold metal of the barrel of a gun touching the back of his neck. He’s shouting at Azazel now, begging to turn around and Azazel can’t help but smile, showing the points of his teeth. “I’m going to enjoy this” he says, voice low and gritty like he hasn’t slept in years. And he hasn’t. They took him, his son from her. Ripped him from his mother’s arms, no cares that he was only a baby then. He was too complacent then, too safe. He trusted the humans too much. He doesn’t know what became of the only woman he had likely ever come to love, and he had only recently discovered that his son was still alive. Kurt was performing as a young child acrobat when Azazel found him. And from then on, he only watches from a distance, not having the strength to pull his child away from a world that’s only show him love and kindness and acceptance. Until the circus was bought and it’s mutant population, Kurt included, shipped off like trophies to the highest bidder.

A loud snap and the young man can no longer see his target down the length of his handgun. Nothing stands there now, only puffs of red mist that seem impossible given the skies flood the grounds below. A small exhale later, ripped from his throat in fear and his body drops to the ground, snapped neck and lifeless eyes.

Azazel moves quickly. The screams get louder, the crying harder when the truck starts. He moves now, dissapearing in a puff once more and dropping one. Then two. Three. Four armed men guarding the truck like they’re nothing. When the last one drops, his head slamming against bed door, Azazel hears a shriek sound from the cage and he looks up; a familiar glow that sends a rush of adrenaline through his heart in a singular moment. The deep blue of his skin, the tail that wraps around his body for added protection over the bright red costume he still wore. But Just as Azazel can begin to memorize ever detail of seeing his son’s face for the first time, he watches Kurt grow small and smaller, his eyes unable to register the finite imperfections that made him perfect. The truck is driving away and bullets begin raining down on him as they clip his arm, shoulder, chest… He vanishes again, taken off guard.

Kurt’s never seen someone like that. He doesn’t believe his eyes, his words small when he takes in the vibrancy of the man’s red skin and long tail. “Mein Gott…”. But just as a sliver of hope catches in his throat, the man vanishes, like an angel, and Kurt can’t help but wonder if this was his punishment for being the way he is. His head hurts, feeling as though his brain pulses against his skull and though he opens his mouth, crying out for help once more, only the mangled and cracked squeak sounds through his tears. He’s freezing, the rain soaking through his clothes thoroughly. Yet all he can think about is the man with the red skin. “Komm zuruck…” _come back come back come back please dear Lord in Heaven above come back to me_.

It hurts to move. He needs to heal. But has no time, not if he wants to save his son. He grimaces, and pursues. A rumble of what sounds like electricity and Azazel takes out the first guy on the hood of the truck, literally throwing him against a nearby wall before he turns and wraps his tail around the other man’s throat, whiplashing him back only to teleport onto the hood. He faces the driver and passenger who begin to empty clips on him. He’s gone within a second and they shoot their man. And he’s smiling the whole time because he likes this. He enjoys watching them die, watching them slaughter each other like they would him and his son if given the chance. Because the heart of mankind is cruel and unforgiving. And retribution felt good.

Now he has them frazzled as he reappears in the middle of them both, smiling at them both as the begin to open fire once more. He’s gone again, this time, he reappears inside the cage. It doesn’t take long to wrap his arms around the small boy, cradle him as they both disappear from the cage entirely. They land a few blocks back and yet, Azazel doesn’t let go. He can’t, not yet.

Kurt hiccups, clinging close to the man as he looks up. His vision isn’t so good. The water blurs it more, his body relaxing in it’s new found safety and he’s sure he can hear his own heart beat. Or maybe it’s this man’s heart he hears. Kurt can’t be sure despite curling into the larger frame more for warmth. His eyes close and he’s certain that he feels a kiss pressed to his forehead. He can feel himself drift to sleep, the soft words sounding in his ear as thick fingers ran through his hair. “Du bist sicher…” _You’re safe_.

/\/\/\/\/\

  
Raven didn’t always stay in her natural form. Having spent her entire life donning long blonde curls and sweet not-yellow eyes, it’s a habit to stay like that. Easy even. But in recent years, she wears the lovely shade of blue that compliments the red hair that hangs just past her shoulders. She’s confident in it now and Erik can’t help but stare at her in the early hours of the morning, watching her lashes kiss her cheekbones as she scrambles some eggs. “That dress is beautiful.” He comments on the pale blue cotton shift that sweeps along the wooden floors. The words take her by surprise as she spins where she stand.

She gasps for air, finally exhaling when she sees who it is. She promptly takes a baby carrot, throwing it at Erik and watching as he ducks. “Don’t scare me!” She says as she steps back, sizing him up. It’s been a while since she’s seen him. Age is only bettering his face, chiseling his cheekbones and hardening relentlessly dangerous eyes; She can see why Charles is infatuated. Of course, the Oxford graduate would never admit it, he has far too much pride. But Raven can see it, in stolen glances, in the unspoken silences and hushed blushes behind insults. “Huh. Your nose isn’t broken or swollen.” She turns back to turn the heat of the stove off, removing the eggs to not overcook them and plate them next to the fruit and veggies and toast.

Erik is confused, knitting his brows together. “Why would-”

“He was pissed when you left last time.” She says, hopping up on the counter and popping a baby carrot into her mouth. Erik sighs, almost laughing. It’s just like Charles to hold a grudge despite his whole flower child stance on life. In fact, it’s the one thing that Erik says unites them while Charles declares its the very thing that separates them. But Erik knows better. Knows that there’s a temper just under that marble pallor and brilliant blue eyes.

“Listen. It’s his fault he picked a fight with me in the kitchen.” Erik cocks back, using a humorous tone to mask his guilt. He doesn’t remember how it started. Only how it ended. Slammed doors, pleas for the other to kindly partake in sexual acts of the personal kind, insults flying that may or may not have hit their respective mothers.

“You called me an arrogant self-righteous pri-” Charles pauses, looking at Pietro in his lap and smiling. Erik smirks, leaning against the counter. “An arrogant self-righteous what, Charles?” Erik’s voice is coy. “You know what.” The telepath shoots back with a glare. “Besides, name calling never warrants throwing a butcher knife.” He’s lecturing as Pietro wiggles free and zips around the kitchen to Raven.

They’re exchanging introductions, Raven clearly confused by the kid’s unusual amount of energy. “What a firecracker.” She coos, watching as he’s already trying to peer up over the top of the counter to see what she’s doing, only with very little luck (and legs). Erik sweeps the boy up and sets him up on the counter and Pietro gives a tiny thank you. “So I see you’re a fast little sprout…” Raven continues, keeping the boy intrigued and talking to her. His interest though is at the food on her plate and its only a matter of moments until Raven is left with an empty stomach and a very full child. “Jeez kid, breathe and taste it.” She teases.

Charles is still infatuated with learning everything he can about Pietro. His newest theory about the kid’s full range of abilities includes the warping of time and so far, Charles seems to be right. Pietro looks confused at Raven’s words, almost as if saying he did breathe and taste it. “I’m telling you, the world slows for him.” Charles coughs before pushing hair out from his face.

Erik is saying nothing until he’s had at least half a cup of coffee. But Pietro looks at him curiously, looking to the man for an explenation. Erik grimaces because the coffee is too hot and his tongue is burned to hell now. “When you go to do anything quickly, does it look like we move weird?” Erik wonders if this is something the kid’s always struggled with. His magnetokinesis didn’t develope until he was much older than Pietro is now. It happened earlier with Charles, but still. Not so young.

To Charles’ delight, Pietro shrugs. “You look like sloths.” He gives, clearly not thinking much of it at all. But to Charles, it makes sense completely. And it’s clear when Charles begins to go on a rant, formulating ways to test the kid’s abilities, creating theories about his potential, practical applications… “… only this fast now, but imagine how fast he could be. He could break sound barriers. He could-”

“Charles.” Erik’s voice cuts out harshly. “You’re doing it again.” He means the ranting to no one in particular. When Charles gets excited over a particular subject, he fixates and drains it dry and moves on to the next idea of the moment. Right now, that idea is Pietro. “Let him be a kid.” Erik adds with a laugh. Charles just rolls his eyes.

“It would be pointless to do any of this now regardless.” He’s lying. No such thing as too much collected data and information. “He’s so young. Inconsistent. Maybe even a little clumsy.” Charles looks at the green band-aid covering the boy’s cheek.

Raven watches the both of them argue in as few words as possible. It’s a relationship that Raven knows few will ever be lucky enough to experience on their own. She doesn’t know if they’re aware of something so rare they share together and she wonders if they knew, would it change anything? Maybe they get what they need from the heated stares and near-kisses when screaming at each other. Still, she wishes they would just get to it already and save everyone else the misery. “You both argue over anything and everything, don’t you?” She hops off the counter, pulling Pietro with her and holding him on her hip. And for a moment Charles wonders if he can stand the sight of them like that. She doesn’t know, doesn’t remember. Why would she, she asked him to remove any evidence. But still, Charles can’t help but mourn the idea of his little sister being a mother to a little boy about Pietro’s age. “It’s called a compromise. Why don’t we go outside and play some games and you can monitor him that way?” She’s leaving the kitchen with Pietro who’s taken to admiring her blue skin.

Erik snorts, shaking his head and drinking more coffee. “I pity the soul that questions her authority around here.” He says simply, following along, feeling smug he has the last word and Charles fumes for a moment because god he wants to wipe that smirk of Erik’s face.

They’re outside, Raven and Pietro playing tag and running around Hank who’s only trying to collect data and is clearly clueless with kids this young. Charles sits with Erik, another game of chess being ignored as they watch. “I’ll contact his mother and let her know that we have Pietro and that she can come get him.” Charles says, not even looking at Erik to know he’s upset about that idea. “Or. He could stay. He’s a little young, but I think we could certainly accommodate his age so he could grow up surrounded by people like him. No need to run away.” If Charles is being honest, he’s already scripted his pitch to Pietro’s mother, definitely interested in keeping him as a student.  _Besides, his father is here to look out for him._

“What is she going to do the moment she finds out you took those memories from her.” Erik changes the subjects, those dark feelings that make him feel murderous bubbling in hist stomach and chest.

“She begged me. And I don’t blame her. No parent should ever mourn their child.” Charles defends his actions, but he knows Erik is right. He didn’t feel right about it then and her certainly didn’t feel good about it now. Fact is, the joy she’s taking for granted is one that she might have known. And sometimes, it really is not better to have loved and lost. “Better to have not loved at all.” Charles finishes outloud and the words sting Erik in the pit of his stomach. Because for a moment, he can’t decide if Charles is talking about Raven or about someone else. And he didn’t want to think that maybe Charles was talking about him. “Besides. It’s not just one person she lost that night. There’s the father to consider too.” Charles tags at the end.

How could Erik even forget Azazel? The romance was… short but heated. Erik’s sure that the man, who he deemed heartless on so many levels, had truly loved Raven for everything she is. And for what it was worth, Raven loved him too. Enough to carry a child to term. Erik shudders, hatred brewing in his blood again. If only the world had been kinder, perhaps someone he loved would have a family of their own. He wonders if that’s a mutant’s lot in life. To have no family but that of which you make.

Now’s around the time Erik will begin to make excuses to leave. But he can’t help but ask himself… _why can’t he leave now?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I apologize for the delay, i got super busy this last week or so. Chapter isn't as long as I would have initially wanted, BUT im making up for it by already having the next chapter almost done, so that should be up in a few days. Anyway, here's some fluff for ya. Cause self indulgent fluff is the best.

The night is still and it seems to drag on for Charles, who’s taken to wandering the hall to pass time and attempt to distract himself from his own thoughts for once. It’s often that it’s the outside world he’s seeking refuge from. But a little boy in the third bedroom on the left has flipped that around this once. It’s not unusual behavior for him, rolling up and down the halls, finding serenity in the way his children sleep feeling safe and secure and knowing he _does everything for them_. He uses his routine as an escape, a moment of silence and simply _feeling_ as he lingers near every door.

He stops in front of a door, it’s resident the newest addition to the household it seems, and he dares to enter. The mop of silver hair on pillows reveal that Pietro is asleep. Likely for a while, Charles muses, so unavoidably aware of just how small the boy is. Small and somehow so unbelievably precious and it has nothing to do with the round cheeks and over sized eyes. It’s a word Charles doesn’t use often, believing it’s use to be rare like it’s very connotation. But there’s something so fragile and beautiful in the way the child drools on the pillow, so blissfully unaware of the cruelty of a world that has yet to try and rob him of his innocence, like so many mutant children before him. Yet, Charles isn’t even sure thats it.

_Something more_ Charles begins. There’s something about how, despite feeling his only option was to run, Pietro seems unaffected by the bigotry and hatred he’s been exposed to. He’s fearless. _Just like his father_ Charles thinks as he pulls the blanket back up over the little one’s shoulders, leaving just as quietly he entered.

Erik needs to know. And Charles has to tell him. He knows this. Been telling himself for the last day that he’s known that he’ll find the perfect time any moment now. But even as he sat earlier that day on the phone with Ms. Maximoff, who seemed relieved at the news, Charles knew it would grow harder and harder the longer he waited and yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Would it matter if he did? Erik seems to love the boy all the same and maybe, perhaps, it’d be best for the man to learn the truth when it matters least. Pietro is likely Erik’s one way or another. Charles can see the way the boy clings to the taller man, looking up at him and asking him all sorts of questions, chatting his ear off, zipping around him. Pietro is infatuated with Erik and Erik hasn’t the heart to say no.

Charles rounds the corner as he’s now downstairs and entering the kitchen smirks when he sees the devil himself, sitting on the counter with a bowl of cereal like a teenager. “We have barstools for a reason.” He wonders if he was obvious about where his thoughts have been for the last few minutes.

“I like to sit on the counter.” Erik tosses back before stuffing more chocolate pebbles into his mouth.

“It’s bad manners.” Charles recites.

“Okay, mother.” Erik wiggles off the counter, taking another bite again and standing now, glancing down at Charles with a smirk on his face. “Why are you up so late?”

“Making the rounds so to speak. I find the silent halls comforting…” He doesn’t say the rest but he doesn’t have to. Erik knows that Charles is talking about the safety of the students. His students. “You?” Charles raises an eyebrow and waits for Erik’s half ass response. He wasn’t let down.

“Chocolate.” He gives, taking the last bite of cereal and drinking some of the milk. “Sometimes you just need some sweets.” He adds, setting the bowl into the drain after having rinsed it thoroughly. He makes a point to show that off for Charles who’s only laughing at the way Erik mocks him.

“I don’t sneak down into the kitchen in the small hours of the night to eat coco pebbles, Erik. That’s your m.o. apparently.” Charles is smug, folding his arms and eyes welling up with mischief and begging for attention. They rarely have time alone and Charles knows how transparent he must be already. Now he can be outright with Erik and not have to juggle the judgment and amusement of everyone else who might potentially be around.

“No, but I recall a time where you had a stash of jelly beans in your desk for the longest time. Or have you moved it to a more secure location?” Erik is grinning, pushing off the counter’s edge and stepping closer to Charles. He knows that look and it pulls him in like a damn magnet, almost involuntarily even. Charles cocks his head to the side, an equally lopsided smirk that cracks with a chuckle taking over his features.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says like it’s God’s honest truth and Erik wonders why there isn’t lightning or something striking this wicked liar down. Further proof there is no such deity.

“I’d set your pants on fire to match your whole persona right now, but some would call that attempted manslaughter.” Erik cocks back as he steps around Charles entirely, sitting in a nearby chair that sets him more at level with the brunette. “Or do you just use your children as an excuse to hoard sugar and candy in the pantry? I’m offended…”

“Your chocolate habit is borderline problematic, Erik…”

“There are far more addicting things than chocolate.” Erik is arguing, watching as Charles turns to face him. He gives a vexing sort of flash of a smile before his hand is covering his mouth to stifle a giggle. Charles rolls his eyes. “You’re a child.” The Oxford grad heaves, blushing because the implications ran through his mind, reminding him of the age old adage that chocolate was just as stimulating as sex. An idea that Charles finds preposterous. Not for lack of trying the theory out on his part. No, he had helped himself to Erik’s stash of imported chocolate many a times to cope with more difficult moments of weakness. Suffice it to say, it helped him none in the slightest, save for gaining a couple pounds. He blames Erik for that to this day.

“Where are you in that head of yours?” Erik coos, and Charles pulls back out for a moment, wishing away the images that had inspired such initial frustration, unable to hide pink cheeks. Erik can see all of it, the way Charles gives a nervous laugh that he passes as non-chalant, his friend is hiding his own shame. When Charles gives a weak smile and says that he’s here, Erik can’t help but agree, eying the clear blue eyes that bores a whole in his chest every time he dares to look too long. So very here and real and Erik is thriving on the pain of avoided touches and unspoken wants that he’ll never admit to.

That’s half the thrill, he’s sure of it. How far can he edge himself to such a prominent danger before he puts himself in harm’s way. Surely, even Erik knows that anything with Charles can only end in heartbreak. It’s a sort of unspoken law of nature between them.

It’s not because they’re different. No, Erik believes that only opposites attract apply to magnets, and as drawn as he is to Charles, magnetic is not what the telepath is. No, they’re so similar that it’s the very thing that pains them. It’s not Erik’s brutality, lack of roots and guarded lifestyle that hurts Charles, it’s Erik’s want of a family that he already has. It’s seeing the once young orphan crave the very thing that Charles offers to him time and time again. And Erik? Erik knows that Charles sees his cause, sees what needs to be done. Sees that if someone can do something about a great injustice, they should. Erik was doing what he believed was right, and Charles wants to support him. Knows that the real threat is on their doorstep any day now and that in the end, all they’ll have is each other. But it’s not enough for Charles who’s had everything. And so it can’t last. The very thing that unites them will be the very thing that tears them apart.

Erik is unsure of just when he began to lean out his chair, closing distance between him and Charles, who refuses to push backwards. “You sure your thoughts aren’t lingering on other ideas?” Erik gives and Charles goes pink in the face again, eyelids heavy with this sort of intoxicating feeling of greed as he scans Erik’s eyes for any sign of cruelty. But there’s none, nothing but sincerity and something else that heats up Charles’ stomach and makes him curl his toes in his shoes.

“I haven’t the luxury of such thoughts.” He lies and Erik can see it in the way Charles’ voice hitched in his throat, can practically feel the smaller man’s heartbeat raise. Erik clicks his tongue, face so close now he slows his own breath, basking in the radiating warmth from Charles’ apparent sexual exasperation. Only the young Professor would never admit to it and that alone is enough justifiable cause for Erik to prove him wrong and make him eat his own words. He brushes his lips against Charles’ and lingers, letting out a small laugh at how Charles went rigid.

“Don’t you though?” He says, mocking Charles. He’s about to get the satisfaction he craves the most, seeing Charles shift to move as quickly as he could to return the kiss tenfold when a loud crackle and snap sounds just outside the window and it breaks both of the men out of their haze. “What the-”

“Someone’s here.” Charles holds a grave tone, pushing to be in front of Erik as though he were the more capable one to defend them in the event of an attack. But the loud snap sounds again, twice more within seconds and both men are ready to fight, Erik already holding a knife in his hand that he certainly did not obtain in the conventional way. Sometimes Charles finds himself impressed with how natural his friend felt using his ability.

The smell is something to be desired, but it’s the least of their concerns as they both size up the bright red figure in the middle of the kitchen now. Red and blue, Charles notes, seeing that the figures are that of a red-skinned man… no… no, he’s something else. He’s bleeding. And speaking German, something that grabs Erik’s attention immediately. It’s broken between sobs and choked backed words. But the fear is there, and even if Charles doesn’t understand at first, it doesn’t take telepathy to see what’s happening.

There’s a mutant man, and a child that looks of his blood. Both are injured, though the youngest is scared, it’s clear the father is relieved. They both turn to acknowledge Erik and Charles, who have relaxed though Erik still holds the knife in his hand by his side. “Please…” The man begs and Charles holds his hands up. “He has no where else to go.”

It’s unclear just how this red-skinned mutant knew about Charles and his school. Charles had only sought to bring children in by his choice, none of them had found him. None except Pietro. The mere idea that someone has taken that power from him sets him on edge but it soften when he sees the glowing yellow eyes of the blue skinned child. A blue, Charles notes, that looks so beautifully familiar and he thinks, for just a minute… distant and cold memories that aren’t his… He ignores them. “It’s okay. You both need help.” Charles moves forward, holding a singular hand out despite Erik’s obvious discomfort.

He thinks Charles is moving to help the man. But instead, Erik witnesses what he believes must be a secondary mutation, its a gift so rare. The small blue child who’s skin stir a sort of familiar warmth and comfort in Erik is crawling from the man’s embrace and into Charles’ lap, crying into his chest and clinging to him as though they’ve known each other for years. It’s a moment that makes Erik realize Charles’ purpose is to care for the future generations. He’s nurturing, affectionate, understanding, a security blanket even and Erik wonders if that’s what draws him back here every time. Security.

The man is backing away, panting and shaking his head. “Take care of him. Take care of him and keep him safe.” The man is gone before anyone can say or do anything and all that’s left after the hiss of his teleportation clears is the sobs of a very terrified mutant child.

His name is Kurt, Charles learns. And from the way his skin glows in the moonlight and the soft radiating light in his eyes captivates Charles, he knows that his theories are likely correct. It’s an unmistakable mutation, one that Charles has evidence to support. After all. He had wiped Raven’s memory of her son’s birth as per her request. Wiped the momentary night of need and want she shared with the mutant she had called Azazel. Wiped how the masses ripped her son from her arms as she ran, wiped the tears she shed when she arrived on her doorstep declaring that she had murdered a child. He erased everything for her. But it didn’t mean it had gone from his mind. And it’s a mistake that has now come back to haunt him thoroughly.

He’s rubbing his hand up and down Kurt’s spine, hushing and cooing him to calm down as the child hiccuped and cried. Erik is speaking sweet reassurances in German, matching Charles’ tone when he stops, noticing when Raven walks into the room. Charles can feel what little color he had fade from his cheeks. “Charles? What’s going on?”


End file.
